


postcode envy

by hippohead



Category: Glee
Genre: Famous Blaine Anderson, Famous Kurt Hummel, Klaine Advent 2020, M/M, because southern hemisphere summer christmas klaine, costars!klaine, set in new zealand!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:40:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27838480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hippohead/pseuds/hippohead
Summary: Kurt flies to New Zealand to film an independent comedy and meets Blaine Anderson - costar, heartthrob of Aotearoa, and playing a character in the film that Kurt's character has to hate. Deeply. So it's rather inconvenient that Blaine is so lovely, and wonderful, and gorgeous, and makes Kurt want to smile 24/7.Also, it's December and it's hot, which doesn't make any sense.
Relationships: Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel
Comments: 122
Kudos: 83
Collections: Klaine Advent 2020





	1. abashed

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my contribution for the Klaine Advent 2020. I love reading Christmas fics so I can live vicariously through Klaine and all of the snow and the hot chocolates and the ice skating. This is for anyone who wants to live vicariously through them and see what a summer Christmas is all about!  
> Will update tags & ratings as I go. I really want to challenge myself to not plot anything and really let the prompts lead me. Cross your fingers that this doesn't end up a total disaster!  
> So, here we go! Prompt one: abashed

It’s not that Kurt minds it. 

It’s just that it’s _weird._ It’s December, and it’s hot. As in – he's wearing shorts and a simple crew-neck because the sun is out and adamant and any more layers than that would be a hazard. And ever since he landed in Auckland two days ago, he’s been feeling an overwhelming need to stop every person he passes by to double-check that they can feel the heat, too. That this isn’t some insane, sun-craving and sleep-deprived hallucination. 

Because it’s _December,_ and it’s hot. 

And he knows, logically, that this is how the world works. He’s in the Southern Hemisphere, and it’s flipped, so while all of his friends and family back home are wrapped up in coats and scarfs, everyone down here is very much not. He gets it, he does. But that doesn’t mean that it makes any sense. 

“Mōrena, Kurt. We’ll be ready for you in five.”

Kurt smiles pleasantly and nods. He wonders if he can ask the 3rd AD for another fan in his dressing room before she leaves, but it’s his first day and he doesn’t want to rock the boat. Another thing that he knows, logically, is that his is the biggest name in this film, but he really doesn’t want to take advantage of that. Everyone he’s met so far has upheld the Kiwi stereotype of being laid-back and relaxed, and the last thing he wants is to become known as the The American with Diva Tendencies.

Kurt looks down at his iPad. He has most of his lines down – there are a couple of scenes he’s still not certain about and he wants to look them over, but he can’t seem to settle into the script right now. He’s nervous. He’s about to go to the table read and meet all of his co-stars for the first time, and see the director again, and as wonderful as New Zealand is, he feels like he sticks out like a sore thumb here.

The 3rd AD knocks and pops her head back in to tell him that they’re ready to start, and so he follows her down the corridor into a small conference room. There are six people in the room; Curtis, the director, who he met over Skype and who looks just as cheerful in real life, two women who are introduced as the 1st AD and a producer, and three of his fellow cast members. 

“Hey, mate,” a woman holds out her hand to him. “I’m Kura.”

He takes her outstretched hand and shakes it, overwhelmed for a second by her warmth and the sparkle in her eyes. “Hi, Kura. Kurt.”

The man to Kura’s left introduces himself as Ben, and to the left of Ben is Zoe. He actually knows of Zoe – she was in something he’d seen at the New York Short Film Festival a couple of years ago, but he can’t put his finger on what it was. Regardless, everyone is lovely to him and after the initial chatter dies down, Curtis clears his throat. 

“Uh, hi. As you all know, I’m Curtis. We’re just waiting on Blaine to arrive and then we can get started, but before we do, I just wanted to say thank you all for being here and for being excited about this project. And – well, a special thank you to Kurt for coming all the way from New York to be a part of it. We’re really honoured, Kurt.”

And all of a sudden, there are six pairs of eyes on him, adoring, and he doesn’t know what to do. So he just waves his hand as if to politely dismiss the effort of the eighteen-hour flight, abashed, and hopes his eyes are expressing his beg to not linger on this. 

But there’s no chance for lingering – thank god – because the door opens in a dramatic fashion and a man stumbles in. He looks flushed and panting, like he ran here, and it takes him a while to catch up and realise that everyone has turned their heads to him. 

“Shit. Sorry,” and he runs a hand through the curls on top of his head, “Traffic was crazy on the Bridge.”

Everyone in the room nods and murmurs as if the words ‘the Bridge’ explain everything, and maybe they do. Kurt looks at who he is assuming is Blaine, the one running late. His and Blaine’s characters in the film hate each other. Not in the cute they’re-actually-in-love-with-each-other way. In the genuine, deep-rooted and are-trying-to-kill-each-other way. It’s a comedy, and a Kiwi comedy at that, so it’s all light-hearted and fun, but still. There is supposed to be real hatred there.

Kurt is going to need to grasp at every thread of acting skill and knowledge and ability that he has, because looking at Blaine –- he's adorable and smiling goofily with floppy hair and wearing a ridiculous short-sleeved button-up that’s covered in little cartoon lobsters, and Kurt already knows from this glance that pretending to hate him convincingly is not going to be easy. 

“I was just saying how honoured we all are to have Kurt with us,” Curtis says, and he smiles at Blaine with an ease and familiarity that everyone seems to have with each other. He’s getting the impression that everyone in the industry here knows one another. 

And then Blaine scans the room and lands on Kurt, and Kurt tries not to read anything into the smile that breaks out onto his face when their eyes meet. “Kurt, hi. I’m Blaine. It’s lovely to meet you.”

Kurt gets up to take his outstretched hand and all of this – the circling back to the topic of being ‘honoured’ to have Kurt here, and the way everyone knows each other but him, and the standing up in front of everyone to shake a stupidly beautiful man’s hand – isn't helping him to not stick out. 

He often wonders how the feeling of desperately needing to stand out, and desperately needing to _not_ stand out, manage to coexist inside of him, but they do. And they’re just as strong as each other, and they account for him becoming an actor, and for him being riddled with anxiety. 

Blaine settles into the empty seat beside him and pulls out his script – a giant binder with a paper script inside, and it’s riddled with markings and post-it notes and highlighter. It’s old school. Kurt is used to everyone just having iPads and tablets back home. He wants to groan out loud when he realises that he finds it endearing that Blaine must have printed the whole thing out himself since they all got emailed the scripts, and then he must have punched holes in every piece and put it into his bright green binder. 

_Endearing._ Good Lord, he is screwed. 

Curtis had started talking again at some point but Kurt’s already let the general welcomes and housekeeping fade into the background. He knows he should be focusing and listening attentively but just before Blaine had shuffled around on his seat and it had caused their legs to brush ever so slightly together and now he’s overheating. 

He’s overheating because it’s hot in December, surely. That’s the only reason why. 

He is convincing himself of that when Blaine leans towards him a little bit and out of the corner of his mouth, whispers, “Do you reckon we can hack it?”

Kurt doesn’t want to be rude to Curtis but he gets caught up in a small aside with the 1st AD – who Kurt finally remembers is called Donna – and so he can whisper back, “Hack what?”

It’s the shade of his eyes that catch him off-guard. Blaine turns towards him with a playful glint in the amber, and the amber is so polished and swirling and _pretty_ that Kurt doesn’t know how to place it, and he says, “Hating each other.”

Curtis starts to address the whole table again and so Kurt can’t reply, not really, but he manages a wonky smile and a shrug before he turns back and focuses. 

But – no. He’s not sure they can hack this.

He’s not sure _he_ can hack this. 

And did he mention it was hot? In December?


	2. brake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one is a little short, sorry! and i'm sorry that I'm already behind, oops, but i'm going to spend the weekend catching up!

The table read takes an exhausting amount of time. 

Almost four hours. And it’s because of two things: Curtis gets distracted easily, and the cast are all comedians and therefore riffing off the dialogue and improvising. A lot. And it _is_ funny, but also Kurt is still jetlagged and desperate for a coffee or – honestly, something stronger. 

When it finally does end, Blaine asks him if he wants to grab lunch together so they can ‘work on their character’s dynamic’ while they eat. He puts the fact that he accepts the offer down to his longing for hard liquor and the ability to quench that at a restaurant. 

It has nothing to do with the fact that the cute and charming lobster shirt-wearing man sitting next to him is the one that asked. 

“Oh, but I got dropped off by a PA this morning, so I’m not sure how I’d meet you there.” 

Blaine puts his hand on Kurt’s arm and the movement is so natural – like it isn’t a big deal for him, as if touch like this is easy and a part of who he is. “Don’t be silly. I’ll drive you.” And he says it as if there’s no point refuting that, so Kurt doesn’t. He just nods and says thank you and stops by his dressing room on the way out to pick up his satchel. 

He meets back up with Blaine in the car park. He’s leaning against what Kurt assumes is his car and – it's nice. Really nice. It looks expensive. But then they start driving and Kurt can’t focus on anything but the fact that they’re absolutely about to die. 

“Are you okay?” Blaine sounds worried, with an undercurrent of amused. And that’s probably due to the fact that Kurt is gripping the roof handle like his life depends on it. It sort of feels like it does. 

“I just - I was in the back seat this morning and the windows were tinted. I couldn’t see everything like I can right now.” 

Blaine chuckles, “I had some friends from Germany visit me last year and they were the same. But don’t worry – I promise I know the road rules.” 

Kurt nods and laughs a little, embarrassed, not meaning to imply that Blaine doesn’t. Of course he does. It’s just that it’s all on the wrong side for Kurt, road rules or not. 

They chat while Blaine navigates them around the city, just light small talk about the usual things – how Kurt’s flight here was, the weather, that they’re excited to make the film because the script had been so interesting. But then they pull up to a huge intersection, and there are cars everywhere, coming from every direction, and when Blaine pulls out into it, Kurt is _certain_ they’re about to get hit by an oncoming car. 

“Shit, stop! Brake! _Blaine_ , we’re-” but then the car doesn’t hit them. And they carry on. Because it’s all on the wrong side but it’s _not_ all on the wrong side here, and the cars pass by each other seamlessly. When his heart has finally decided to come back down to earth and beat at a normal pace, he looks over at Blaine. 

“Are you okay?” he asks Kurt for a second time. And this time there’s no worry, just amusement. 

“I’m just going to close my eyes until we get there,” he groans, and then actually does. He hides behind his fingers and palm and slumps into the seat with a self-deprecating laugh. Blaine picks up their chatter from before and makes no mention of how ridiculous Kurt is being right now, and Kurt just lets his body move and sway with the turns and stops that the car is making until they get there. 

“Hey, Kurt? You can – you can open your eyes now.” 

Kurt peeks through a gap in his fingers and confirms that they are, in fact, completely stationary. He breathes a sigh of relief. “Sorry. You’re a wonderful driver, I just – it’s all backwards for me here.” 

“You’ve never been to England?” 

“Huh?” Kurt’s confused by the change in conversation. 

“Just because – well, you know. They drive on the left there too. And I just assumed you would have gone to London for work or something.” 

“Oh,” Kurt says, catching on, “No. I haven’t actually. I’ve only really done stuff in the States and Canada.” 

Blaine looks at him for a moment and it feels assessing, like he’s seeing something in Kurt’s answer and also just Kurt that he’s not sure he’s offering up. But then the expression clears and he says, “Right. Well, this place is nice. It’s just a bakery, but they have a million options and the food is always good.” 

Kurt follows Blaine's pointed finger and looks at the front of the building they’re parked next to. It’s long, with a white picket fence out the front and the words, _The Bakers Cottage_ , written along the front. It looks casual but well-presented and cute, and it kind of reminds him of Blaine, actually. 

And then realises he just likened a building to a man he only met hours before, and so he gets out of the car and resigns himself to getting a very strong coffee. 

It doesn’t look like this place sells hard liquor, after all. 


	3. careless

There is one long string of tinsel sitting atop the food cabinet inside the bakery. It’s so tattered that it looks like it’s been used to decorate the place for the last ten years. There is also a tiny dancing Santa sitting on the counter by the cash register with a sign next to it asking people not to press the button. 

Kurt looks at Blaine. 

“Is this... is this what Christmas is over here?” He can’t even leave the horror out of his tone. 

And then Blaine reacts the way he has been reacting to Kurt ever since they started driving – he looks amused. “I bet this pales in comparison to the decorations in New York, huh?” 

“Pales in...” Kurt trials off, in disbelief, unable to even echo that sentence back. “Blaine. This looks like the Grinch has been by for a visit. What? Why are you smiling like that?” 

“No, it’s just – it's cute. That you care so much about Christmas decorations.” 

It’s _cute._ Kurt wants to read into that, but just like when he’d reached out and touched Kurt’s arm earlier, he says it in a way that sounds light and natural and completely normal for him. As if Blaine goes around attaching the word cute to all things and everyone. 

They get to the front of the line and Kurt realises that he needs to order. He’s been so caught up in the decorations – or the _lack_ of decorations – that he hasn’t made a decision yet, so he impulse orders a roast vegetable panini and a black coffee. Blaine orders after him and they make their way over to a table in the corner, where Kurt picks their conversation back up. 

“I guess it just... doesn’t really feel like Christmastime to me here. I love December in New York – the whole month is just scarves and hot chocolates and ice skating in Bryant Park. All of the shop fronts are decked out in decorations, and the cold just sort of matches everything.” 

“It sounds incredible,” Blaine nods. “But, you know, there are some really awesome aspects to having a summer Christmas. Everything just feels... more relaxed, and we get to spend the day with our families at the beach or having a barbeque in the backyard. There’s a lightness to it here.” 

Kurt smiles, “You know what? That does sound really great, actually.” 

“I’ll have you converted to liking our Christmas in no time,” Blaine smiles back, and Kurt can’t help but hope there’s a promise in there somewhere. 

Their coffees arrive and they shift back to shop talk – Blaine starts to talk about how Curtis is as a director, and how good everyone in the cast is, and Kurt focuses because it’s helpful information. 

“Did you already know everyone before you got cast?” 

Blaine finishes his mouthful before he answers, “Yeah, the industry is so small that everyone has worked with everyone, really. I did a murder mystery show with Ben a couple of years ago, and Zoe and I were in a romantic-comedy last year. And Kura and I have met each other at a bunch of different charity events. Oh, and Curtis directed me in a short film when I was first starting out.” 

“It must be nice being so close with everyone.” 

Blaine hums and there’s something complex about the sound. “Yeah, it is. I mean, not everyone is... well, anyway. Most people are really lovely.” 

Kurt wants to pry. He wants to know what Blaine is hinting at and skirting around, but he is still aware that they’ve just met and Blaine doesn’t owe him anything. He decides to steer them to what they came here to talk about: “So, Donny and Marvin.” 

“Yes - Donny and Marvin,” and Blaine looks glad of the topic change. “They hate each other.” 

“They do,” Kurt agrees. And then he grins and tilts his next words into a tease, “So, I’m going to need you to stop being so pleasant.” 

Blaine clutches his heart, dramatic and sparkling eyes, “What, me? Being pleasant? I’d never dream of it.” 

Kurt laughs at the performance and wants to point out all of the pleasantness so far – the including Kurt, and the giving him a ride, and the opening the bakery door for him, and the sitting here with him now – but before he can, he catches a young girl tugging at her mother’s sleeve and pointing at Blaine. “Do you get recognised a lot?” 

“Huh?” Blaine says, and then he notices the young girl too. He smiles and waves at her, and she waves back, and then... nothing. That’s that. The whole interaction. Blaine turns back to Kurt, “Yeah, sometimes.” 

“And that’s... all that happens?” Kurt thinks about all of the times he’s been ambushed or accosted on the street, or at a restaurant with his friends, or at the supermarket. He’s not even _that_ famous, really – but it's enough to have a pretty solid fanbase and to be recognised when he's out and about. And so while he doesn’t experience what A-Listers in Hollywood do on a daily basis, he’s also never had someone just politely wave at him and then leave him be. 

“Yeah, people are mostly pretty chill about it. We don’t have the same celebrity culture that you guys do in the States. Although – I can guarantee that everyone here knows who you are.” 

“What? Why?” Kurt glances around and sure enough, people do seem to be a little bit aware of him. But he wouldn’t have noticed if Blaine hadn’t said anything. 

“Kurt,” Blaine pulls his eyebrows together in confusion, “You’re quite famous.” 

He wants to laugh but Blaine seems completely and utterly serious. And then he continues. 

“That film you did with Saoirse Ronan – _Dead Lemons_ – was a huge hit here. It ran at the cinema for months. Kate Rodger gave it _five stars._ ” 

He says the last sentence with so much emphasis that Kurt assumes that must be a really good thing, though he has no idea who Kate Rodger is. “Oh,” is all he can think of to say. 

Blaine gets them back on track talking about their characters and the backstory of them hating each other and how seriously they want to play it, and Kurt listens and nods along. Blaine is passionate and intelligent and there is a depth in his words and the way he says things, and Kurt knows if he is careless, Blaine being pleasant will be the least of his worries. 

Blaine being _everything_ , will be the most. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kate Rodger is a film critic in NZ and is sort of known for being really hard to please. my dad always used to joke after her segment on the news that she was a film critic who hated films lol  
> also please point out if i reference or mention something that doesn't make sense to anyone - i'm being wildly self-indulgent with this fic and i forget what is common knowledge and what is specific to NZ


	4. dispensable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok this got more intense than i meant for it to. i promise i will be back with lighter NZ fluff shortly?

Blaine’s arm is pressed against Kurt’s chest, backing him into the wall behind him, and Kurt is searching his face for any hint of kindness. There is none, though, because this isn’t Blaine, not really.

This is Donny.

It had been quite jarring on their first rehearsal day when Blaine had slipped so easily into hating him. Kurt had been scrambling to pull off his side of the hatred then, and he’s still scrambling now, one week in. Clearly Blaine is the better actor between the two of them if this is anything to go off. It seems so natural for him – for the amber in his eyes to glaze over and become dark with a hatred that Kurt really believes, for the words directed at Kurt’s character to be cold and hurtful, for him to settle into the anger that Donny reserves for Marvin.

They’re choreographing a fight sequence today and Kurt is struggling even more than usual. There hasn’t been fists involved before now; just harsh retorts and bitter looks. And Kurt is fine with the actual act of fighting Blaine – he’s always had a natural ability to move his body however he needs to and he has a couple of action films under his belt, but finding Marvin’s motivation and passion behind the punches is where he’s floundering.

And it should be so easy. He has Marvin figured out down to his bones, and he understands the backstory that the script gave them and what he and Blaine have discussed to deepen that backstory, too. It all makes sense in his brain, logically, and it’s his _job_ to put all of that into practice, and to make it believable that he hates Blaine. But then Blaine will accidentally mess up a line and the apologetic smile that spreads onto his face every time is always so goofy and dumb, and all Kurt can think about is _that._ Goofy and dumb Blaine, not resentful and evil Donny.

It doesn’t help that the movie is a comedy.

If he was just playing the rivalry and nothing else, maybe it would be easier. But there is a dark joyfulness to the tone of the film and if he’s being honest, Kurt is struggling to wrap his head around the whole thing.

He needs to figure it all out, and quickly – before filming starts, that’s for sure.

“Are you okay?” and that’s Blaine, arm still pressed to his chest and noticing that he’s slipped out of the scene.

Kurt turns his head to the side and looks at Curtis, “Is it okay if I take five?”

He’s pretty sure Curtis suppresses a sigh but he nods and Kurt doesn’t want to turn the exasperation he's just caused over in his head yet. He needs to get out of this room with its stuffiness and its crash mats and its pressure to perform. Blaine’s arm drops immediately and Kurt pushes past him and walks down the hallway with purpose, needing to gasp into the fresh air.

He crosses the parking lot and makes his way down the hill a little bit, following the curve of the grass until he reaches the water's edge. There’s a little river that runs along by the studio and it’s proved very helpful for centering himself. He takes a few deep breaths.

He’s never had a project that’s thrown him this off-kilter before. He did a film with Lucy Liu once and not even that knocked him off his game, and he watched _Charlie’s Angels_ a shocking number of times growing up. He sort of feels like screaming but that seems a little dramatic. He settles for just wrapping his arms around his chest as if that will keep him in one piece, and grounds himself.

It takes about ten minutes before he’s ready to head back in to the rehearsal room. As he walks down the hallway, he can hear two voices – one of them is Blaine, but the other doesn’t sound like Curtis or the stunt coordinator. He doesn’t recognise it at all, really, and it doesn’t help that the words are sort of hushed.

But as he rounds the corner and steps into the room, he catches the tail end of: “-make sure you don’t forget how dispensable you are, Anderson. Got it?”

“Blaine?”

And he says it loudly, more assertive than he feels, because there is a man crowding into Blaine’s space with a finger to his chest and Blaine looks – tiny. The man backs off at Kurt’s voice and clears his throat, and then slips out of the room. Kurt watches him leave with a cold stare, and he finally feels all of the hatred that he’s supposed to have been able to conjure up this whole past week at once.

He turns his head back towards Blaine who hasn’t moved and is still standing on the other side of the room. He won’t meet Kurt’s eyes. “Who was that?”

“No one,” Blaine takes a deep breath and then waves his hand as if to dismiss what Kurt just walked in on. “He’s just one of the executive producers.”

And that just makes the hatred take root even more. “He’s one of the _execs?_ Blaine, I’m reporting him. What’s his name?” It feels odd to have this conversation across the room from one another but Blaine doesn’t seem to want to move and Kurt wants to respect his space since whoever was just in here obviously didn’t.

“Curtis said he’d be back soon.”

It’s a feeble attempt and he knows Kurt won’t let him get away with it. Kurt knows that Blaine knows that because they’ve spent enough time with each other over the last week and a half for him to have started to see the fierceness inside of Kurt. “What’s his name, Blaine?”

“ _Kurt,_ ” and it’s the harshest that Blaine’s voice has ever been. It’s verging on the tone of Donny’s. “Leave it alone. Please.”

He doesn’t have a chance to press it because Curtis wanders back in and instructs them to take the whole fight sequence from the top.

This time, Kurt isn’t floundering or struggling. He’s angry, and he lets the feeling course through him until it feels like Marvin’s anger, not his, and it’s the most in-character he’s felt since he got here.


	5. event

Strictly speaking, Kurt’s not a whiskey drinker. 

But there’s something about being at a Christmas party for a production company he’s only just started working for where he knows barely anyone – but _everybody_ knows him – that makes him want to rest at the bar and order a drink, neat. 

Then he takes a sip of it and remembers _why_ he’s not a whiskey drinker, and so he asks the bartender to change it to on the rocks. The ice only helps a little bit. 

“You never told me you were a method actor.” 

The voice appears beside him and he turns to it. It’s Blaine – leaning against the bar top, too, eyes ahead and seeming looser than Kurt has seen him in days. He must be a couple of drinks in already. 

“What do you mean?” 

And he feels a little guilty about that question because he knows what Blaine means and where he’ll be taking this conversation. 

“Sort of feels like you’ve been avoiding me since... well, for a few days.” Blaine says, and then he turns his head, a slight grin that’s a little reserved on his face, “You do know you don’t have to _actually_ hate me, right?” 

There is a reason that Blaine has noticed that Kurt has been avoiding him – because for the first week of rehearsals, Blaine and Kurt had hung out almost every day afterwards. Kurt has no idea why Blaine had taken him under his wing – maybe he wanted to, or maybe he felt sorry for him being in a different country all alone. But it had been nice; they had grabbed dinner all over Auckland and gotten to know each other more and more during each meal. 

But something had shifted last week. He’d tried to talk to Blaine again after that rehearsal about what had happened with the exec, but Blaine had been just as shut off as the first time. And for some reason, the reaction had made Kurt withdraw. If he’s really honest with himself, he knows it’s because he’s terrified of how much he already cares about this man. Of how protective he feels. 

Like maybe it’s too much, too soon. 

And Blaine made it very clear that he didn't want Kurt's help.

He tries to take a sip of his whiskey to give himself a second, and to give them a beat, but it just makes him wince. It’s tastes funny, and he realises how lonely he's been. Kura and Zoe are both extremely sweet, and Ben is always interested to hear about his life back in New York, but Blaine – Blaine is his only real friend here. And he’s just spent a whole week doing his best to interact with him as little as possible. 

Barely anything beyond the harsh words that were written for him to say to Donny. 

“God, I’m such an asshole,” and he’s thinking out loud, really, but he might as well say it. It’s true. “I’m so sorry, Blaine. I just-” 

But how can he finish that sentence? I just freaked out because I walked in on an executive producer overstepping a boundary and you won’t let me help? Blaine doesn’t owe him anything, even if Kurt feels like he owes Blaine something in this whole situation. 

“-am really sorry,” he finishes lamely. He looks at Blaine more closely and he’s got that assessing look back on his face that Kurt’s seen a few times. He’s desperate to know what it is about Kurt that Blaine is trying to figure out, but it never really seems like he ever comes to a conclusion. 

And then his expression changes – shifts into something almost mischievous. “I think I know how you could make it up to me.” 

“Oh yeah?” And honestly, he’ll do whatever Blaine wants. It just feels nice to be talking to him again. “What’s that?” 

“Ditch this event with me.” 

Kurt narrows his eyes at Blaine, but he seems to be completely serious. He glances around the room; everyone is caught up in boring conversations with important people – Kurt had been introduced to them all tonight and cannot remember a single one of their names. He’d rather be anywhere than here. 

And, in particular, he’d rather be anywhere than here _with Blaine._

“Okay,” he grins, putting his barely-touched whiskey back onto the bar. 

“Okay? Really?” 

Kurt nods. It’s not exactly a hard sell. Blaine makes too much of a show of them walking towards the exit, exaggerating the casualness of their movements, telling anyone that catches their eye that they’re just ‘nipping out for some fresh air’. 

“Oh my god, you’re so obvious,” and Kurt’s actually _giggling_ by the time they scramble out the door and onto the street. Blaine is giggling, too, and it sounds so silly and sheer and wonderful. 

They start to walk away from the venue and dodge all of the twenty-somethings in fancy clothes stumbling out of taxi’s and into bars. They’re on the main street in Ponsonby – Kurt only knows this because Blaine had taken him to a French café here where they had the most divine crepes for dessert. And as lovely and lively as it is, he has no idea where they’re heading. 

“Do you have a plan now that we’ve pulled off our great escape?” Kurt bumps his shoulder into Blaine playfully. 

“I do, actually,” he bumps back. “There’s somewhere I want to take you.” 

Kurt smiles and keeps walking, keeping pace with Blaine. He assumes he just wants to take him to another eatery that he’s fond of. He’s wrong. 

Blaine stops just before they get to the corner of the footpath and stops Kurt, too, with his hands on his arms – and it’s that casual touch again – and grins. “Alright, we’re here.” 

Kurt can’t see anything except for Blaine and the rest of the street around him. “Okay?” 

“Do you remember the first day we met?” 

Kurt has to bite his lip to stop himself from laughing. It was a mere three weeks ago, so yes, he remembers, but he decides to humour Blaine because something in his eyes is making this seem important. “Yeah?” 

“We went to that bakery and you were really disappointed with the decorations,” and when Kurt nods, assuring him he remembers that detail, too, he continues, “Well, I really wanted to show you that we _can_ do Christmas properly here.” 

He starts to walk backwards, and Kurt goes with him because Blaine’s hands have moved from his arms to his wrists and he’s pulling. And then they round the corner, turning onto the street running perpendicular to the one they were just on and - 

Wow. 

“I know it’s not New York, but...” 

Kurt shushes him. They’re standing at the top of a long, sloping road – Franklin Road, to be exact – and every single house is decorated. And not decorated to the level of the bakery, no – decorated to a level that takes his breath away. It almost hurts his eyes; the glow of the Christmas lights, shining and flashing and gold. 

“Blaine, this is...” but he’s not sure he has the words for it. Blaine dropped his wrists when they turned the corner but he’s still looking at Kurt. And the awe in his eyes almost matches the awe in Kurt's, except Blaine’s back is to the displays. “Incredible,” he manages. 

“I thought you might like it,” he smiles. 

They make their way down the street and it takes every bit of will power Kurt has to not reach out and hold Blaine’s hand while they do. It feels utterly romantic, and even though he has no idea where Blaine’s head is at in terms of that, he decides to just revel in the magic of what he’s seeing and who he’s seeing it with, holding hands or not. 

In this case, not. 

There are families everywhere milling up and down the street, and someone is playing a medley of Christmas songs from a loud speaker. It honestly feels very New York – except everyone is in short dresses and short-sleeves, not coats and scarves. 

“We have to take a picture outside of this one,” Kurt says, particularly impressed because there are animatronic ice-skating snowmen on the front lawn and icicle lights on every inch of the house. 

A woman notices them struggling to take a selfie, so she offers to take it for them. Blaine puts his arm around Kurt’s waist and it makes him blush. He’s grateful that Blaine is too busy grinning at the camera to notice, and when he gets his phone back, the picture is actually really great. It’s framed beautifully and she managed to fiddle with the settings so the lights aren’t streaking across the whole thing. 

“Thank you,” Kurt smiles at the woman as she shuffles off and shows Blaine the end result. 

Blaine zooms in on them, “Oh, we look great!” 

So, he posts it on Instagram. With the perfect caption. _Baby, It’s Not Cold Outside._ And then he tags Blaine in it, and turns off his data. 

When they get to the bottom of the street, they cross over and start making their way up the other side. They're almost back at the top when Blaine says, “Is it crazy that I really missed you this past week?” 

And there’s that tone again – the one that gives Kurt pause because the words should mean so much and have a weight to them, but he says them in such a light way that it feels like they could slip through his fingers. He has no idea how heavy the sentence is. 

So he just says, “I really missed you, too.” 

Because he really, really did. 

* * *

Kurt wakes up the next morning in his hotel room with his alarm blearing. 

It's the weekend and so there's no need for him to be up this early - he must have forgotten to turn off the alarm setting on his phone - and he's just about to roll over and go back to sleep when he notices it. 

An email from Rachel. 

> From: Rachel Berry <rachel.berry@gmail.com>  
> To: Kurt Hummel <k.hummel@gmail.com>  
> Subject: Are you alive down there?!
> 
> Kurt!
> 
> Oh, I miss you! I have some time off in-between wrapping up the show and starting rehearsals so I've decided to come home and spend Hanukkah with my dads, and they're driving me a little crazy. I love them to pieces but they're making me sing old Broadway ballads with them every night and I'm supposed to be resting my voice. 
> 
> How are you, though? How is New Zealand? Have you visited Middle Earth yet? Had dinner with Lorde? I'm trying to think of other things that I know about New Zealand but I am coming up empty. Oh! Rugby? Sheep? Anyway, please respond to this email promptly with a full update because I have had to resort to searching tabloids to see what you're up to. 
> 
> One email, two weeks ago, saying "everything is great" is not going to cut it, Hummel. 
> 
> And speaking of tabloids, I demand you include in your reply a detailed explanation about this: tmz.com/kurt-hummel's-steamy-summer-christmas-romance/
> 
> Can't wait to hear from you. Within the next 24 hours, please. 
> 
> Lots of love,   
> Rachel ⭐

He doesn't want to click on the link.

He clicks on the link.


	6. farm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am, like, over a week behind but it's fine everything is fine we are doing what we can!

Okay, so maybe Kurt should have thought it through. 

He’s out, Blaine is out, and they’re both in the public eye to some extent. You don’t have to give the media much before they start connecting dots... even when those dots don’t exactly connect yet. 

Or at all. 

But it was just supposed to be a cute photo on his Instagram feed. 

Blaine, personally, is having a wonderful time with it. He had walked onto set on their first day of filming and loudly announced to the make-up artists that the world thinks he’s dating Hollywood’s Kurt Hummel, and he'd followed it up with a dramatic bow. At first, Kurt had taken it on the chin and laughed it off and chuckled whenever Blaine had made a reference to it. But they’re on their third consecutive day of filming on a farm in East Auckland and he’s had it. 

As if the heat and the cow shit and his less-than-ideal costume wasn’t enough, he’s having to fend off calls from friends and family back home _and_ deal with everyone’s questions at work. If he sees one more raised eyebrow or knowing smile from a crew member, he’s going to lose it. 

“Hey, mate. You okay?” 

Kurt forces a smile onto his face and turns to where Kura is standing a couple of feet away from him, “Yeah, just having a breather.” They're all on their lunch break and as much as he's been channeling some of his anger towards the farm itself, it really is beautiful and calming. Rolling hills and an incredible view of the ocean stretching out far away from them. He likes being able to see the water, and he likes that you’re never really far away from being able to in New Zealand. 

Kura makes her way over to where Kurt is standing and they both look out at the sea, a nice silence settling over them. Kurt sort of hopes they can just be here and not do or say anything for a while, but then she raises her arm and points, “That’s Maraetai Beach down there.” 

“It’s beautiful.” 

She hums in agreement, “A couple of us are going to head down there after we wrap tonight and get some fish and chips. You should come,” and then, as a cheeky afterthought, she adds, “And you can bring that boyfriend of yours.” 

Kurt manages a chuckle but it’s weak and transparent. 

When Kura speaks again, it’s more serious than he’s ever heard her. “You must get pretty sick of people being all up in your business all the time, huh?” 

He tears his gaze away from the view and looks at her, tries to figure out what she wants from him; the truth, or the sugarcoated answer he’s learnt to give. But there’s a softness in the way she’s waiting for his reply and so he decides to just be honest. “It can get a bit overwhelming, yeah. The fact that I can’t even post a photo with a male friend without the world planning our wedding is... tiresome.” 

She grimaces slightly, guilt in her expression over the fact that she’s definitely made a couple of light jokes over the past few days. “I’m really sorry, Kurt. We shouldn’t be adding to all of that.” 

He nods, smiling, accepts the apology. And then, to let her know that they’re okay, he says, “I’d love to come to the beach. And I’ll bring my boyfriend.” He rolls his eyes good-naturedly and they laugh, and then they look back out at the ocean again. 

* * *

Kurt’s not sure if this is exactly his ideal way of eating dinner, but there is something about the content feeling of it that is appealing. 

A group of them had piled into cars after work and wound down the hill until they'd reached the water’s edge, with Kura planning to meet them there with the food. Once she'd found them and called, “Kai’s here,” everyone had gone about setting up picnic blankets on the sand and putting out bread and tomato sauce and untangling the newspaper-wrapped bundle. 

And it’s not like Kurt’s never had fish and chips before, but there’s something about this meal that feels like a ritual and a tradition. There’s a certain _way_ about it, as if feeling this airy and easy and happy whilst sharing food with friends on the ground with the waves lapping nearby is how it should always be. 

“Come on, try a chip butty.” 

Kurt looks at Blaine, unimpressed, “A chip what-y?” 

Blaine smiles at him in such a goofy way that it makes Kurt want to shake his head in disbelief – how can this man’s silliness be so effortlessly charming? It’s infuriating. And endearing. He always comes back to endearing. 

“A chip butty,” he clarifies, even though he knows just as well as Kurt that he heard him the first time. He holds out his own butty to punctuate his point. 

“I have no desire to put fried potato inside of white bread and drown it in ketchup, but thank you,” and he means that, but he says it kindly. 

Blaine mocks hurt, “Kurt, you’re breaking my heart.” 

“Alert the media,” he mutters under his breath, a little bitterly but Blaine doesn’t seem to catch it. He says the next bit more purposefully, “Will New Zealand forgive me if I don’t indulge in its weird potato sandwich?” 

“It’s actually a British thing,” he frowns, realising that the whole thing stems from colonization and he decides to stop pushing for Kurt to try it. 

After all of the eating has slowed down, two of the camera boys that were sitting on the other side of the giant arrangement of picnic blankets suddenly get up and race each other into the water, splashing and yelling and laughing. One by one, everyone else follows them until it’s just Kurt, Blaine, and Kura standing over them, asking them if they’re coming in. 

“I’m not really a salt water person,” Kurt says. 

Blaine looks at him for a moment like he wants to question that or push for him to go in the water, but then something shifts and he turns back to Kura, “Go, have fun, Ku. We’ll look after everyone’s stuff.” 

Kura doesn’t seem too bothered and heads off, striping down to her bra and shorts as she goes. Kurt laughs fondly at her carefreeness, and lays back on the blanket. It feels nice to not really care about the sand getting in his hair, and it’s his contribution to the carefreeness. 

“I’m really sorry for how I’ve been acting about- about the article.” 

Kurt turns his head sharply, looking up at Blaine who is still sitting upright, knees pulled to his chest now, arms wrapped around them. Clearly Blaine is not participating in the carefreeness. He can only see the side of his face as he’s keeping his eyes on the sea, but it looks concerned and worried and more remorseful than is probably warranted. It's not like he wrote the article himself. 

“Blaine, it’s-” 

“It’s not, Kurt.” Blaine says, shaking his head slightly but not turning it, almost stubbornly. “It’s not okay. I’m sure you deal with that kind of shit all the time and I shouldn’t be trivialising it.” 

Kurt takes a deep breath in and lets that sit between for a moment. “Thank you,” he says on the exhale, because that really does mean a lot. The fact that Blaine’s so self-reflective and caring doesn’t help Kurt in his effort to stop the part of him that wishes the tabloids were right. He looks at Blaine and he wonders why they’re not, what’s stopping him from turning the rumours into reality. “I guess there are worse people for the world to think I’m having a summer fling with.” 

Blaine finally looks at him and there is something in his eyes for a second, and then whatever it is clears until it’s just joy and stars and ease - and Kurt realises that the ease is the reason for the not doing anything about it just yet - and he chuckles. 

And then he lays down next to Kurt, mirroring his position half in the sand, and they watch the sky flick through different hues of blue until it settles on a darkness that's still kind of light enough. They talk, and sometimes they don't - just listen to the squealing still coming from their friends in the water. And it's during one of those moments when they're not talking that he wonders how long it's going to take him to figure out the ease. 

He hopes it won't take too long. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been including some Māori words in this fic because the language is so important to New Zealand's history, present and future. I'm trying to make sure they're used in context but let me know if you need me to translate anything!


	7. grey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies for starting chip butty discourse on the last chapter - for what it's worth, i'm quite partial to a chip butty myself. this chapter is a bit shorter (sorry) but the next one will be along soon!

Blaine is looking at him. There is something deep inside of his eyes and it’s burning – but it doesn’t seem like hatred. There is none of the distaste that Kurt has learnt means Donny. 

It’s lust. Kurt can feel the heat of it, even from here. 

“I figured I would find you here,” and that’s Blaine, saying Donny’s line right on cue. 

Kurt stares at him, level and chilling, just like the script dictates. And then Blaine moves all at once, precise, and Kurt reaches for the prop gun that is resting in his waistband. He gets it out just in time for Blaine to grab his wrist and pretend to whack it against the wall behind them, Kurt letting it clatter to the ground even though the force wasn’t enough to actually do it. 

It’s choreographed. Blaine pretends to smash his hand, and he makes the gun falling look out of his control. That is what happened every time they rehearsed it, and it’s what happens now that they’re filming it. But then Blaine’s other hand grabs Kurt’s other wrist, and he raises them both above Kurt’s head, and he pushes them into the wall. His thighs are pressed into Kurt’s own and keeping him there, pinned against the wall, helpless. 

And this isn’t part of their dance. 

At this point in the scene, Blaine is supposed to pull a knife on him. There shouldn't be looming over Kurt, there shouldn't be legs pressed together, there shouldn’t be _lust_ in his eyes. “Right where I want you,” he says, voice rough and scraping. 

He’s gone off-script. 

There is a moment where they hold there and Blaine looks at Kurt’s lips and Kurt figures out the creative changes. He nods. And then Blaine somehow moves closer, closes a gap that isn’t really there, kisses him in a way that’s immediately dirty. There should be people around them – a director watching a monitor, crew members with cameras pointed at them, boom operators just off to the side. Kurt’s eyes are closed in the kiss but he can’t _feel_ anyone anymore; all he can sense is the way Blaine’s hands are still clutching his wrists up there and that there is something frantic about this. 

He tugs until he’s free and then he pushes Blaine back until he collides with the set couch. It’s a weird fabric and an ugly grey but it’s a surface, at least. Kurt doesn’t waste any time climbing on top on Blaine, the urgency that Blaine created coursing through his own limbs, too. He sucks at his jaw, letting his tongue trace along it, and pulls his earlobe with his teeth. 

They’re at work, in clothes that aren’t theirs, and they’re desperate. 

And then suddenly they aren’t in clothes at all, and Blaine is fucking him, and Kurt’s head is spinning. Blaine looks so beautiful like this, as if the sweetness inside of him makes this dirt hotter. He wants to take a picture but he doesn’t have his phone on him, so he just watches the ragged breaths and the moans and the way his mouth moves around Kurt’s name as he comes, and hopes he can remember it. 

And then Kurt wakes up.


	8. history

It’s not that Kurt’s never had a sex dream about a coworker before. 

He has, and it was mortifying, but he’d managed to push it to the back of his mind and move on. He’s never had a sex dream the night before filming the scene that the dream was set in, though. 

He’s barely looked Blaine in the eye all morning, embarrassed about something that the poor man isn’t even aware of. He’d contemplated just telling Blaine so they could laugh it off and make it mean nothing, but then he’d seen him coming out of his dressing room and the sight of him made him feel... prickly. Hot. On edge. And he swiftly tossed that idea out the window. 

He can never, ever tell him. 

And now they’re on set and it looks exactly how it looked last night in his head, except this time Blaine _is_ going to pull a knife on him the way he’s supposed to. He’s not going to pull Kurt’s arms above his head, and Kurt’s not going to push him back onto that god-awful couch. They will stick to the script.

Kurt can’t stop thinking about how much he prefers his version, and it’s incredibly _not_ ideal. 

“Hey, Kurt?” 

He looks at Blaine vaguely but before he can answer, Curtis is moving into their space and lowering his voice. 

“Okay, guys – this is a pretty big scene and we’re probably going to do a bunch of camera rehearsals, so I just want to make sure you both remember where we’re at in the journey and the history between the characters. Kurt,” and he turns to look at him, an intensity in his eyes that Kurt has come to know over the past two weeks of filming, “I need you play this so seriously that the comedy will come from Blaine, okay?” 

Kurt nods. He knows that. They’ve been over it more than once, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s pretty sure he’s somehow sweating through three layers of costume - one of them leather - because his mind keeps providing him with flashes of what didn’t happen here last night. It just... really feels like it did. 

They do three rehearsals and each time, the stunt coordinator steps in and tweaks things – where to put their hands and how to make it look more realistic. Donna asks them to hold their positions so lighting can adjust, and of course it’s the one where Blaine has Kurt pushed into the wall. It feels like some sort of cosmic teasing. 

“Everything alright?” Blaine murmurs so that only Kurt can hear. 

He nods, so annoyingly aware of how close they are to each other. He doesn’t trust himself to say anything, though, so he turns his head and tries to focus. By the time they start filming, Kurt has somehow managed to bury the dream down far enough that he feels like Marvin. 

Or, at least, he thought he had. 

“Cut!” 

Curtis sounds a little exasperated – it's the third time he’s called cut and neither Blaine nor Kurt knows what it is he’s wanting. He hasn’t really explained, just keeps asking them to take it from the top. This time, thankfully, he pulls his headphones off and makes his way over to them. Blaine is still crowding Kurt despite the fact that the scene has stopped and when he realises, he puts a step of space between them. 

“Okay,” Curtis says once he’s next to them, and it looks like he’s desperately trying to figure out how to say what he wants to diplomatically. He doesn’t really succeed: “I need it to look more like you’re trying to kill each other, and less like you want to rip each other's clothes off.” 

Blaine pulls his brows together, and Kurt wants the floor to open up and swallow him whole. They both nod, entirely embarrassed, and they share a little look as Curtis walks away. It feels sort of charged, the look, but Kurt knows if he reads into it, he’ll only make it worse. He won’t be able to take on Curtis’ note, and so he breathes in a few times and clears his head. Buries the dream and buries _Blaine_ even deeper. 

The person he sees in front of him is Donny, and he can’t stand him – he feels that prickly feeling he felt this morning but this time it has nothing to do with attraction. It’s about feeling so out-of-his-skin with hatred that his hand starts twitching for his fake gun even though they’re not up to that part in the scene yet. Blaine seems to have gotten to the right place too, and the energy on set feels dangerous. 

They don’t really talk to each other after they wrap the scene. Everything feels a bit too complicated right now, as if they need to untangle themselves from their characters before they can be them – Kurt and Blaine – again. It’s too heavy to wade through. 

He has a herbal tea in his dressing room and listens to some calming music, and when he heads to the studio reception area to get a ride back to his hotel, he feels a lot more like himself. 

“Hey. We did good today.” 

Kurt turns and is shocked by how much relief he feels at seeing Blaine, not Donny. It’s almost as if he’s missed him, which should be ridiculous, but the feeling settles and it’s true. He misses Blaine when he has to spend twelve hours with Donny’s glares. He wonders if Blaine misses Kurt, or if the malice in Marvin doesn’t bother him. 

“Yeah, we did. I think the general public will believe that we want to murder each other.” 

“Even if they also think we’re hopelessly in love,” Blaine adds on, but there’s none of the tease in it like there was last week. He’s just stating a fact, really, because the tabloids haven’t stopped reporting on it and he’s pretty sure there’s a hashtag on Twitter now, too. 

“Ready to go, Anderson?” 

Kurt looks to the voice and the warmth in his body drains. It’s him; the exec. Kurt still doesn’t have a name. He feels his hands curl into fists involuntarily, but then Blaine is nodding at the man and saying goodbye to Kurt and starting to leave.

“ _Blaine,_ ” he hisses, grabbing his arm to stop him from moving. “What are you doing? You can’t leave with him.” 

There is something in Blaine’s eyes that Kurt has never seen there before: resignation. And then he shrugs, Kurt’s hand falling away with the movement, and he says with a conviction that contradicts the resignation, “It’s a business meeting, Kurt.” 

He wants to chase after him, beg him not to go, tell him he has a terrible feeling about it. But there’s something about the way Blaine gets about this whole situation that stops him and reminds him that he doesn’t have any right to get involved. It’s Blaine’s life, and he has to trust that he knows what he’s doing. 

It doesn’t stop him from feeling a little ill at the sight of Blaine getting into a car with the man who had been looming over him two weeks ago, sex dream completely forgotten and replaced with a nervousness he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to be feeling. 


	9. inconclusive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi very important note! this chapter includes discussions of non-consensual kisses, both canon and otherwise. please bare that in mind if that is something that is triggering for you. this chapter is a little sad but it's an important one <3

It’s almost midnight when he gets the call. 

He knows Bridget quite well. She works most of the night shifts on reception and Kurt is a bad sleeper. He’s called down for a variety of things like extra pillows and another fan and pain killers. They get on quite well. Kurt would even call her a friend if she wasn’t being paid to be nice to him. 

It’s just that usually it’s _him_ calling _her._

“Hey Bridget, is everything okay?” 

She hums down the line, “Inconclusive.” 

“Okay,” he’s trying not to overthink her tone. He has no idea what on earth this call could possibly be about but his anxiety is ready to panic regardless. “Want to tell me what’s going on?” 

“There’s a man here for you.” 

That is... not what he was expecting. “I didn’t order a man,” and what? Why is _that_ what he says? 

He can hear Bridget trying not to laugh, “Yeah, I know, Kurt. It’s Blaine.” 

“Blaine?” and Kurt knows who Blaine is, doesn’t know why he says his name like a question, just knows that the panic is setting in and for very good reason now. 

“Blaine Anderson? Voted Aotearoa’s Most Eligible Bachelor three years in a row. Acclaimed actor and star of-” 

“Just- let him come up.” He doesn’t mean to be rude and interrupt Bridget’s monologue about Blaine’s achievements but Blaine’s never turned up at his hotel before and he’s willing to bet this isn’t a booty call, despite the hour. 

It takes a while before the knock – enough time for Kurt to have paced around his suite at least seventeen times, and he runs to the door at the noise. And when he opens it, Blaine looks... small. The smallest he’s ever seen him. His hands are in his pockets and he’s looking at the ground, and when Kurt says his name he barely even looks up. 

“What happened?” and it comes out of him like a plead. He wants to go over to him and wrap him up in a hug, but he knows who he was out with tonight and he’s scared. Scared of what did happen and why he’s here and the fact that touching him might break him. 

When Blaine finally looks up, Kurt can see the resignation from earlier is still in his eyes. But it’s the other thing he can see there that hollows out his chest and makes him ache and anger all at once: burden. 

“He... um. He kissed me.” 

His voice is wobbly and threatening to break and Kurt knows those words, knows what they mean, knows that Blaine didn’t have a choice in the matter. “Do you want to come in?” 

Kurt steps back at his nod, far enough so that Blaine has plenty of room to slip in and decide where he wants to be. He chooses the small but comfortable armchair and folds his legs under himself. He offers him tea and makes a cup for each of them, and then he perches on the end of the bed and waits. Blaine’s almost sipped his way through his entire drink before he speaks. 

“I’m going to explain everything, I just...” 

“Hey, you don’t have to explain anything to me if you don’t want to. We can just sit here and drink tea until the sun comes up if that’s what you need.” He takes a deep breath for the next bit, “But if you do want to... I’m here.” 

Blaine nods. Sits there in silence for another ten minutes. And then, eventually, he starts to talk, “We were supposed to go out for dinner tonight. Eat while we discussed... well, he promised me he’d get me set up with an agent in the States. That’s what our whole relationship is about.” 

“An agent in the States?” It’s the first he’s heard about it. 

“Yeah,” Blaine confirms. “We met last year at a work event and he told me he saw great potential in me. Said I had ‘global marketability’. And I... you know, I want that. New Zealand is great and I love living and working here, but when someone is offering you the chance to do even bigger things...” 

“It’s tempting,” Kurt murmurs. 

“It is. He started mentoring me, paying for me to get training from really renowned teachers, and set up meetings with overseas contacts – the whole nine yards. I felt indebted to him.” Blaine stops there and frowns down at his empty mug. “He’d always been a little... overzealous with his compliments, but they’d always been somewhat connected to my career. But then they started to get a bit more personal. He’d compliment my clothes, and then the way I’d styled my hair. Then my body. I...” 

He takes another break and god, he’s doing incredibly well considering. Kurt almost wants to tell him to stop, knows this can’t be easy, but it also sort of feels like maybe this is helping. He’s pretty sure this is the first time Blaine’s said any of this out loud to anyone. 

“I told him he was being inappropriate, and he got mad at me. Started telling me that I had been leading him on, made him believe that I was into him. We got into a big argument and I didn’t hear from him for a while. He reached out earlier this year. I hadn’t been having much luck getting an agent without him and I figured he hadn’t actually _done_ anything, just said words-” 

“Words aren’t okay, either,” and he doesn’t mean to butt in, to sound a little harsh, for there to be a warn in his tone. But he means it. 

“I know,” and it sounds like he really does. “Ever since we reconnected, he’s been... in my space, threatening, keeping me in my place. He took me to a bar tonight. I should have just left the second we got there, but he’d promised me he’d found someone that wanted to sign me.” 

Kurt wants to interrupt again and tell him that him not leaving doesn’t make anything that’s still to come in this awful story his fault, but he holds his tongue. 

“Anyway, he bought me a drink even though I said I wanted water, and then he told me that Gersh wanted me, and I was so excited that I let my guard down. And that’s when he, well...” 

Kurt lets a breath out, long and steady, and tries to process everything Blaine has just told him. It’s a lot. And it’s even more than that because of his own experiences. 

“I’m sorry for dumping all of this on you. I’m sure you think I’m an idiot for getting myself into this mess.” 

“No,” and the word is fierce. “Blaine, none of this is your fault, you know that right? I know it feels like it is, or that you could have done things differently, but the fact of the matter is you told this man that you didn’t want his advances and he didn’t listen.” 

Blaine is looking at him, soaking up his words, desperate for them and the validation. 

“I had a kiss stolen from me, too. I was sixteen and it was- god, it was the most awful feeling I’ve ever felt. It was like this thing that I so desperately wanted to tear apart from myself, but I couldn’t. So I- I know what you’re going through, kind of, and I hate that it happened to you.” 

“I hate that it happened to you, too.” 

Kurt smiles, soft and sad for the both of them, but mostly for Blaine right now. “None of this is your fault. And what happened is not okay,” he tells him. There are other things he wants to tell him. He wants to tell him how burning mad he is. He wants to tell him that he’ll march into the head offices tomorrow and yell and kick and scream until the man is arrested. He wants to tell him that he’ll do anything to make sure he pays for what he’s done. But somehow, he just _knows_ that what Blaine needs right now is to be here, with Kurt, and feel safe. The fury will have to wait. “Why don’t you stay here tonight? I’ll sleep on the couch, or I’ll get Bridget to bring up a spare bed for me, or-” 

“Kurt?” 

“Yeah?” and he knows that his answer to whatever Blaine says will be yes. 

“Do you think you could- that we could share the bed? I just... kind of want the comfort of knowing someone that won’t... do anything, is right there.” 

“Of course,” because of course. 

Blaine spends some time in the bathroom and he comes out wearing the pajamas that Kurt laid out for him, and he gets into the bed. Kurt keeps to his side, there but not too close, and closes his eyes. 

“Goodnight, Kurt.” 

Kurt wipes away a tear before it can even really escape out of the corner of his eye, and it’s for Blaine and it’s for his sixteen-year-old self. 

“Goodnight, Blaine.” 


End file.
